Omnic Reign
by AllHailCatlord
Summary: Overwatch has fallen. The Omnic Crisis never ended. Humanity struggles against a seemingly immortal enemy. This is the story of those fighting to survive in a world no longer ruled by men.
1. Chapter 0 - Prologue

_A man made of steel sheds blood akin to that which once was his own_

 _Another torn between two lives, both turned to dust_

 _A woman in armour, fighting back against that which took everything from her_

 _A shadow, hunting those he once fought alongside_

 _A man created to be the savior of the world, now struggling to hold onto the few comrades he has left_

 _A girl who once soared through the skies, now held to the ground by a heart of iron_

 _A brother plagued by guilt, now a hunter of his overlords_

 _A man living in a world of his own creation, and the one who watches over him_

 _A girl waking up in a world not her own_

 _A friend made enemy, mind warped by those who would destroy her race_

 _A girl belonging to the past, and the man who made her a weapon_

 _A woman in chains, dreaming of the day she can avenge those that she could not protect before_

 _Another grasping at memories she'd thought long gone, and horrified at what she's found_

 _A man, once a symbol of hope, reduced to a shell as those who believe in him fall one by one_

 _A woman, once perceived as an angel, now fallen so that she may bring about peace_

 _Yet another hides within a peaceful civilization of her own creation, but knows that the walls she made shall soon fall_

 _And finally, one doomed to a life estranged from both sides of this war, yet determined to bring it to an end._

 _They are Overwatch. They are wanderer. They are rebel. They are Omnic._

 _And this is the end of the world._


	2. Chapter 1 - Cyborg and Cynic

Blood arced through the air like crimson ribbons, but it was neither his nor Hers, so it was inconsequential. He would have neither redemption nor revenge today.

Killing was like a dance, the steps deeply ingrained in the warrior's muscle memory. He'd abandoned the shadows he was raised in long ago, and the gift of light was one that did not come for free. He'd been branded traitor, and his mortal body destroyed by the one he trusted most. So he'd embraced the brand with all of what was left of the true Him and become a tool to bring about the downfall of the human race.

Genji had been human once. No longer. And it was all because of Her. Her silver-tongued promises of freedom and peace. And yes, he'd found himself free from the strict code he'd been raised with, one binding him to the shadows, battling futilely against those who sought to destroy him, as if picking them off one by one could truly orchestrate their end. However, he was now bound to those whom he'd become one of in this second life, this rebirth.

There were those who'd kill for immortality. He wished he could die to escape from it.

The last scream ended in the sick sound of a woman choking on her own blood. Genji no longer cared. He had enough control of his own senses to shut her out, but why would he? They weren't his kind. Not anymore. Her fingers, with the last of her strength, reached out futilely, leaving trails of scarlet down his otherwise spotless white armour. He stared blankly at her body. He felt nothing. He almost wished he did. But what good would that do him? He was on Their side now. He was Omnic.

Genji Shimada sheathed his blade and walked calmly away from the scene he'd left behind him. Women, men, children; all staring glassily ahead. This was his world now. He was a killer of innocents, those seeking only to survive in a world no longer their own.

And still he felt nothing.

* * *

The man flipped open the pack of cigars absentmindedly, taken aback momentarily as he tipped the packaging and received nothing in return. Right. He'd run out days ago. His mouth curled downward in a sneer. _Great._ He dropped the box and crushed it under his heel. Who knew how long it would be before he could find more. They were becoming more and more scarce as people's guilty pleasures became their _only_ pleasures in this damned world.

The sun glared down on Jesse McCree, and Jesse McCree glared back. It was this world that had robbed him of his place in life. He'd been more than happy working with the Deadlock Gang, before he'd been caught and that life had come to an end. Then Morrison had picked him up. Perhaps it was an opportunity at redemption that had encouraged him to join Overwatch. Or perhaps it was just the only alternative to rotting in a cell for the rest of his miserable life.

Jesse had never been very good at understanding emotions, even his own. Perhaps he had grown somewhat fond of his comrades, especially those he'd worked with in the Blackwatch. Maybe it was just a bond formed out of necessity. He couldn't really be sure at this point. He spat on the ground, drumming his fingers anxiously on the hard-packed ground he was sitting on. He wasn't sure whether the anxiety stemmed from the lack of tobacco, or the fact that he'd been dwelling on thoughts of the Blackwatch again.

What did it matter? He'd never see those bastards again. And if he did, he was more than likely honour-bound to kill them. They had torn Overwatch apart from the inside, and they'd killed-

His thoughts were interrupted by pain searing through his skull. Damn withdrawals. He slowly stood up and dusted off. Not that it would do much good. Dust was all that was out here.

He turned towards the direction of the nearest city. He knew there wouldn't be much left, but if he was lucky, he'd find something to ease his cravings.

Jesse McCree needed a smoke.


	3. Chapter 2 - Soldiers

Fareeha Amari's mother was dead.

That was the knowledge that pulsed through her being every minute of every day. Her mother was dead and it was _their_ fault. The Omnics, and all those that they'd lured over to their side. All the cowards that had turned tail and run once the tides seemed they'd never turn.

Curse Reyes. Curse Lacroix. Curse Ziegler.

So she fought. It was all that was keeping her going, keeping her from collapsing into a simple shell. She'd taken the teachings of her mentor – long gone now – and used them to create weapons from the corpses of her enemies. She tore into their metal hulls, taking whatever she could to make herself stronger. Now she rocketed through the skies. Weeks ago she'd been as a child taking her first steps. Now she was as at home in the air as on the ground.

Jack turned his head towards the girl in the sky. The older man watched her soar, twisting and turning, feeling out her new armaments. His scarred face twisted into a sad smile. _Ana,_ he thought. _If only you could see her now._ If only _any_ of the others could, wherever they were now. He knew that they would have been proud. Fareeha had always been a fighter. He just wished it hadn't taken such a terrible loss to awaken her true potential.

It saddened him, too, to see how the bright child he'd once known had become a shell of herself. He knew she didn't see it that way. He knew she believed exactly the opposite. He wasn't going to tell her otherwise. But he saw very little difference between the girl and the metal suits she piloted. She saw herself as a weapon, empty and useless outside of battle.

Then again, in these days, weren't they all? It was either death in battle, or death as an almost welcome escape from a life spent stagnant and filled with fear.

They weren't people anymore. They weren't even just survivors. They were weapons.

They were all soldiers now.


	4. Chapter 3 - Sky

Lena Oxton stared at the sky. She raised a hand, tracing a line across the pale blue spattered with dirty-looking clouds. Her back pressed uncomfortably down on the cracked, ruined cement she was lying on, an all too clear reminder of how she was bound to the earth.

This wasn't home. Home was up there.

Her breath caught in her throat. _Bloody hell._ Here it came. She twisted over quickly – too quickly – and pain shot through her chest.

 _Shit. Shit._

She pushed laboriously off the ground. 5 metres. That's all she had to walk. She could make it.

 _SHIT!_

The pain slammed into her again, rippling through her chest and down her left arm. Her right hand involuntarily grasped at her chest, as if she could punch through it to get to the root of the pain. She pushed forward, tripping over the doorframe that marked the entryway into the tiny shack. She flailed, catching herself on a dirty workbench. She was so close now.

She hauled herself onto the chair standing in front of it, fingers grasping blindly around until they connected with a thick cable. Lena bit her lip. This was gonna hurt like a bitch. In one quick, jerky motion, she pulled her tanktop off with one hand and with the other, shoved the cable into a socket in the center of her chest. She gasped fruitlessly for air as she slammed her hand onto the button mounted at the cable's source and electricity coursed through her chest.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, it stopped. Lena slammed her forehead into the table, doubled over, gasping like a fish out of water. Finally, breathing back to a steady, if somewhat shallow, rhythm, Lena glanced at the monitor in front of her. The tiny red line coursed up and down at a regular tempo, and fell flat as she disconnected herself. Shaking and sweaty, she pulled the tanktop back on, concealing the dull metal socket that stood out sharply from her skin.

This what what the sky had done to her when it had cast her out, plummeting thousands of feet to the ground. It was why she'd never fly again. The sky was home, but it also housed all of her demons. Yet she knew that she'd have to conquer it one day. The implant was breaking down. She had to find Ziegler. Maybe where she was now she'd be able to fix her once and for all.

Maybe she'd have a heart of flesh again. Not one of steel.


End file.
